


Birthday Boy

by ArmageddonGeneration



Series: Jon and Damian, Sitting in a Tree [2]
Category: Super Sons (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Damian Wayne is emotionally constipated, F/M, Gar ships it, Jon is the man, M/M, Music, Party, Pet Names, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-13 09:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10511100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmageddonGeneration/pseuds/ArmageddonGeneration
Summary: Damian has a difficult history with birthdays, so he's keeping his 14th... Efficient. Until Jon breaks into his kitchen.Sequel to Stakeout / Hello Pandora





	1. Ice Cream is the Best Medicine

Damian's day has been extremely efficient, until Jon breaks into his kitchen.

He's had the Titans running for almost four hours on an assault course he'd devised a few months ago, designing flamethrowers and spring traps when he should have been finishing a trigonometry assignment, and now there is a pleasant ache in his bones that's managed to cover up everything else ( _first head rolling at three, abandoned on the mountain at seven, his blade at Father's throat at ten -)_.

Logan is complaining about a kinked tail and Starfire is giving him the 'disapproving mother' routine behind his back (he'll have to endure another of her nauseating speeches on family spirit and Tamarinian values later, he knows), but right now the afterburn in his muscles is enough.

  
Then they walk into the kitchen, and the burn is extinguished by a flood of cold dread. Jon's perched on the counter, just so, rocking like a bird about to take flight. He waves cheerfully.

"Hi."

"What are you doing here?" Damian hisses, marching forward. "How did you get in?"

"Dick gave me a passkey."

Damian curses meddling older siblings under his breath. Behind him, Garfield's smile is lazy and pure evil.

"Oh, it's _you._ " He lets the last word linger, and Damian is reminded of Alfred when he's playing with a mouse. "Sorry, we didn't catch your full name last time."

Jon grins, delighted someone remembered him, and blissfully unaware of the wrecking ball he just  
sent through Damian's integrity, professional reputation, entire _life -_

"I'm Jon -"

"Nobody!" Damian interrupts quickly. "He's nobody."

"Jon Nobody." says Raven, dry to the bone. _Traitor_. He thought she at least would be above making fun.

"Exactly." Damian grinds out.

Jon looks confused. He raises his hand to speak, like they're in kindergarten class, which is  
typically childish and not in any way endearing at all.

"Um. So, anyway, it's your birthday." He gives Damian a shy little smile that flips his stomach inside out (possibly he has an allergy to Kryptonians. This is a perfectly normal reaction).

"I'm aware."

"You're turning fourteen."

"Yes." says Damian impatiently, _don't remind me_ ( _costume on at eleven, buried in a six-by-two b_ _ox at twelve -_ ).

"So -"

Garfield interrupts again. Damian has to close his eyes and force himself not to list all the ways he could kill him with the teaspoon on the counter.

"Hang on, hang on, hang on." He rounds on Damian like he's committed heresy. "It's your birthday, and you celebrate by punishing your friends with the assault course from hell?"

"Better than when he turned thirteen." Raven points out.

"What happened then?" asks Jon.

"He kinda kidnapped us." West scratches his head awkwardly, like he's aware of how much Damian wants to throw him into an active volcano right now.

Jon pinches his nose the way he does when he's exasperated, lets out a long sigh and fixes Damian with his ‘I know you can do better’ Look.

"Ugh, Dami, we've been over this. Kidnapping is not how you make friends."

"You say that, but the fact you're standing here is evidence to the contrary." Damian folds his  
arms and allows himself a smug smile.

Logan is still nattering on.

"But it's your birthday! How can you not want to party? Are you even human?!"

West coughs pointedly.

"Man, you looked in the mirror lately?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Logan cries indignantly.

"You're literally the color of pea soup."

"Pea soup?!"

"Actually, I think you’re more of a kale color." suggests Starfire, who's recently become fascinated with the concept of the 'smoothie'. Logan spreads his arms appealingly.

"Listen, I realize everyone wants to eat me up, but I'm not a salad guys." He thinks about it for a second. It looks painful. "Maybe I'm lime color. Y'know, all zesty and -"

"Sour?" Raven finishes.

Damian decides he needs to re-assert himself.

"Enough!" He whirls on Jon, giving him his best glare. It bounces off like a bullet. "Why. Are. You. Here?"

"Well, your Dad's off-planet, and I didn't want you to spend your birthday alone. I mean, we know how dangerous that is." He gestures at the assembled Titans.

"I don't know," Logan mutters, "we could use some new recruits -"

"Garfield." Damian warns. He stiffens like Damian's just slapped his mother.

"Don't call me that."

Something feral flashes in his eyes, and for an instant Damian can see the beast. Interesting. Something to make a note of...

"You let me call you Garfield." Raven points out.

"That's different."

"Oh yeah?" West's grin is what Todd would call 'shit-eating'.

"What?" Logan yelps a little too defensively, "She scares me."

"Damian scares you." West says. Ligan's eyes dart like a cornered animal's. 

"Pfft, he does not! Rae has the power to tear out my soul with her eyes!"

"And Damian doesn't?" West asks, and Damian makes a note to hold him higher esteem in future.

"She's a literal devil child!" Logan protests.

"And Damian isn't?" Jon asks innocently, and Damian remembers he's in the room. He's been watching the conversation like a tennis match. Quietly, too; Damian's training must finally be taking effect; the boy is usually like a tramping elephant.

"Jon, stay out of this." Damian stops. Thinks. He needs to get Jon out, and get back to training. Already, the bone-ache is receding ( _trial by combat at eight, leader of the Fist at nine -_ ). He clears his throat in a stately  
manner, and turns to face Jon head-on. "As you can see, I'm not alone. I have my team. You can leave."

He keeps himself rigid and his chin up, to project authority. This image is rather ruined when Logan starts snickering. That spoon is _right there -_

Jon gives him his 'Are you sure I'm the alien one?' Look, and slips off the counter.

"Um, no. Birthdays are meant to be special -"

"I have the authority around here Kent." Damian interrupts. He doesn't have time for this 'dragging you down to normality' spiel ( _starvation duration at four, broken thumbs sliding out of handcuffs at six -_ ).

Jon marches up very close, close enough to set Damian's allergy going again, because gravity goes funny and his stomach feels curiously light. He's very conscious of the full two inches of Jon's head the Titans behind him can see over his own, but Damian will not stand on his tip-toes, he will _not..._

"I don't care." Jon declares, and looks over his glasses at him with a smug grin. "And that's your fault, bird brain, cos you're the one that taught me to say no."

"Go. Home." Damian gets out between gritted teeth. It's building like a pressure behind his temples. ( _beheading, hunger, stranger in his crosshairs at five-_ ).

Jon gives and exasperated sigh and spins away, appealing to their audience.

"Right, because I'm Damian Wayne and I'm _so emo_ , the only way I can stop feeling lonely is burying it in my stupid training because I'm so misunderstood and I _know_ I don't have any friends."

"I'm not emo." Damian gets out. Behind him, Starfire shifts.

"Well, sorry to break it you but -"

"And I do have friends." Damian overrides her. Jon gives him a lopsided grin.

"Exactly."

And maybe it's distorted alien logic Damian's allergic to, because he's sure Alexander couldn't undo the knot his stomach's in now. It's really very distracting; he needs to find a cure at once.

"I thought we agreed that we wouldn't be -"

Jon waves him off.

"I thought you said rules were made to be broken."

He can't do that! He can't quote Damian to himself, he can't turn his own weapons against him - why does he pick now to start paying attention to Damian's lessons?

The pressure is solid now, inflating like a concrete balloon. Desperate measures, cut and run tactics.

"For the last time, I don't need friendship today, I - What is this?" This last part comes out very small and very timid, because suddenly Jon’s breath is beating warm on his neck and his arms are wrapped round Damian’s back. Damian can smell fresh hay and oatmeal from Jon’s hair.

"It's a hug." He mumbles into Damian's shoulder, "I'm hugging you."

Damian struggles a bit, for dignity's sake. He's painfully aware of how huge Logan's smile must be.

"Is this some kind of battle tactic to embarrass me into submission?"

He feels Jon smile into his shoulder, and physical contact definitely makes the allergy worse, because the sensation actually makes Damian _shiver_. He must be coming down with a fever.

"Is it working?"

Damian goes limp, and lets the floodgates in the back of his mind open.

_Alone at three, for the initiation ceremony. Blood on the carpet, on his hands. Sword painted red._

_Isolated in a cell at four, devoid of food or human contact for days._

_Solo at five, his first mission out in the world, lone wolf among the flocks of sheep, forwarding the righteous cause of the League._

_Blindfolded at six, unable to feel for the straightjacket and the chains weighing him down, unable to breathe for the clock ticking down to escape or death, to prove himself worthy._

_Abandoned at seven, the lonely mountain top and the biting, rabid cold, making his way back unaided, to show he had the will._

_Fighting alone at eight, walled in by the ancient laws, facing the challenger with only his own skill, his own wits._

_Anointed with noble responsibility at nine, the lone commander of his Grandfather's Fist._

_Left by his mother at ten, to the mercies of a world and a god unknown._

_Father dead by eleven, leaving him to fend for himself with new allies he doesn't trust._

_Cold. Blank. Nothing, at twelve._

_And at thirteen..._

"You just want me to drop everything and go?" Damian asks. It's weaker than he would have liked. Jon doesn't care. Never has. He smiles instead.

"Well, it is your turn to be kidnapped."

Damian sighs. He tries to make it sound reluctant.

"You're not going to stop, are you?"

"Nope."

He looks far too pleased with himself.

"This is unnecessary and a waste of time." He tries, feebly. Jon shrugs.

"Most fun stuff is."

"... So, what exactly would this 'fun' of yours entail?"

Jon claps his hands in a way that shows he's getting down to serious business.

"Ice cream first."

A nerve in Damian's forehead... twitches.

"You interrupted my week-long training regime for ice cream?"

"Yup."

Damian clenches and unclenches his fist very carefully, muttering under his breath.

"Infernal extraterrestrial simpleton, no comprehension of this complexities of this intricate -"

Jon cups a hand to his ear.

"Sorry, what was that? I don't speak Shakespeare."

Damian scowls.

"I was calling you an infernal simpleton."

"Sure. You coming or what?"

West thinks it's a good idea to speak for him.

"Sorry kid, but nothing stops him when -"

"Five minutes." Damian snaps, and relishes the way their mouths drop like dumbbells. He tells himself this good for his image as a leader. Teaches them to say on their toes. He strides off to the locker room to get changed. "Class dismissed."

Logan raises a hand.

"Hey, can we come t-"

"No."

Jon just smiles.


	2. Soul Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Titans throw Damian a not-birthday party (with a little help from Jon).

Damian walks onto the training deck four hours later, expecting to find it deserted. He needs to get his mind straight after exposure to Jon's infectious enthusiasm, and the training deck is garunteed to be deserted: If there's one thing for which his team can be relied on, it's slacking off when he's not forcing them to work. They call it 'fun'. Reprobates. Though, Damian supposes, now Jon has infected him too, he can't exactly complain.

Instead, he finds all four of them lounging around, and - oh my God.

The assault course. His masterpiece. What have they _done_ to it?

Streamers hang from vicious iron hooks. Technicolor balloons are tied to the swinging blades hanging from the ceiling, pulled serenely along by their gentle sway. A buffet table has been set up at the far end of the room, covered in what Damian can only assume is meant to be food (with Starfire's cooking it's always hard to tell). Starfire herself spots him and walks forward, bearing a tray of glasses and a pitcher of lilac liquid. 

"Surprise!" She smiles sunnily, walking by a row of motion-activated flamethrowers. Instead of flames, they spray little poofs of sparkly confetti as she passes. Damian chokes back a sob.

_"What is this?"_

"A party." Logan sighs blissfully, like sanity has been restored to the world. They've arranged five chairs in the middle of the room (not the chairs Damian bought for them, but the soft, plush ones from the rec room). There a few open pizza boxes scattered across a table in the center.

"A what?" Damian hisses.

"It was Jon's idea." West says around a mouthful of Meat Feast. (Logan throws him a disgusted look).

"And I'd like to point out I'm here against my free will." interjects Raven, who's curled up barefoot on her chair with a book the approximate size and shape of a paving slab. _Ye Olde Hexes and Arkane Arts_ , proclaims the cover.

Damian goes very cold, then very hot. ( _How did Jon even? That meddling little -_ ) 

How dare he, getting Damian to abandon his training for a ruse! He should've known not the trust him. The happy-go-lucky pipsqueak doesn't get it, the team isn't like him, no one is, and Damian's certainly not going to let anyone else through his walls when Jon is already causing so many problems -

"I don't want a birthday party," he practically spits the last two words.

"Yeah, Jon said you'd say that," says Logan, "We've set up our own little 'I was kidnapped by Robin' therapy group."

The blood drains from Damian's face.

"What else did Jon say?" He will not show fear, he will not ( _please tell me he didn't mention the sleepovers, please -_ )

"Oh, lots of things." Logan says airily, "Your favorite color, your secret identity, the measurements of your inner thigh..."

Higher thought shuts down and Damian turns a rather interesting shade of purple.

"What the hell are you implying about us, you little green -"

"Now now boys, don't fight." Starfire chides, placing her drinks tray on table, "This is our anniversary party, after all."

"Anniversary?" Damian asks.

"Mm hmm," she hums, pouring out five servings of what Damian _hopes_ is punch. It looks like a cross between gelatin and ditchwater; West gulps like a child being forced to take his medicine. "One year ago today, the Teen Titans was re-founded -"

"Conscripted." Logan mutters.

"- and everyone has to give a gift in celebration. Mine is the refreshments I've provided."

Oh. Well, Damian supposes that's acceptable. Merely for the sake of team morale. Grayson keeps saying he should care about that. Damian takes his seat carefully, conscious this is only the second time the Titans have seen him out of uniform. He feels raw and exposed; his eyes dart, covering all the angles. weighing up the chances of attack.

West pokes his glass of punch experimentally; it shivers like Jell-O and a single bubble winds its lazy way to the surface. It bursts, and a smell like month-old fishcake wafts upward. He retreats hastily.

"Yeah, um, can I just have an IOU instead?"

"Now now, it's the thought that counts." Logan scolds in his best 'patronizing grown-up' voice. Damian grins and shoves his glass forward.

"Big words. But can you back them up?"

Logan regards the glass like a hangman sizing up the gallows.

"Hey, if it's the thought that counts, can't I just think I enjoyed it and be done?" he asks weakly. Starfire pouts, something no warm-blooded male has ever been able to resist for long. Logan gives a long-suffering sigh and shrugs. He picks the glass up like he's handling a grenade; West leans back like he's expecting an actual explosion. Raven peeks over the top of her book. Damian leans forward eagerly.

"Ah well, you only live once."

Logan screws up his courage and his eyes, tips his head back, holds his nose and downs the thing in one. The effect is electric; he makes a noise like a stalling engine and collapses to the floor gasping.

"Or not." Raven comments dryly. Logan gags and convulses on the floor like a seal doing party tricks.

"O, I am slain!" he manages to get out, and sort of melts onto the floor. 

"You OK, man?" West asks. Logan pushes himself into a sitting position and his head flops back onto the seat of his chair.

"I saw my whole life flash before my eyes. Man, I am such a badass." He sighs dreamily. It's sad really; he's so desperate for validation of his talent he's become his own groupie.

"Oh joy, he's back to normal," comes Raven's monotone from back behind her book.

"'Normal' being a relative term." West grins. He offers Logan an arm and helps him back onto his chair; he still looks completely spaced out. "At least you're still breathing."

"I can fix that," volunteers Damian, who's feeling a little disappointed.

Starfire looks sheepish.

"I apologize Garfield, I didn't realize it would be so ... abhorrent to you."

"That's fine, you can make it up to me," Logan's eyes brighten with a fake lightbulb, "Ooo, I know, why don't you teach me how to speak Tamarinian?"

Raven snorts like an angry pig.

"The language-lip contact thing only happens one way, dumbass."

Logan clutches at his heart.

"Y'know, I'm feeling really attacked right now. Maybe I should go back to Africa and live among the wild things. At least they'd appreciate me."

"I'll buy you a plane ticket." Damian offers. Logan meets his eyes, and seems to understand he's still being punished for his earlier implication ( _imbecile, how could he even think - how could he even assume -_ ). Logan, however, has always made a habit of kicking the hornet's nest.

"Oh, it would only be so you could get some alone time with your boyfr-"

"OKAY," West almost shouts, and shoves Damian back into his chair before he can even get his knives out, "Gar what's your gift?"

Logan rises grandly and adjusts his ratty hoodie and jeans in order to look more stately.

"From now on," he proclaims, “all of you can call me Garfield."

Raven glances up from her book then quickly down.

"Gee thanks." says West, "What else?" Logan shrugs, pulling his empty pockets inside out.

"Fresh out. But think about it like this; I'm so naturally awesome that by hanging around me all the time, you guys are bound to catch it too."

"Or we could catch fleas." Raven says acidly. Logan's hand flies to his chest again.

"Below the belt, Rae."

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't think there was anything down there to damage."

"This is an awful gift." Damian protests, "I don't need your permission, I can call you whatever I want anyway."

"Yeah," West chips in (as if Damian needs his validation), "and it only affects half the team anyway - hey!" He jabs a finger at Logan so fast he flinches, "Star calls you Garfield! How come everyone you let pass is a girl?"

Logan stares at the floor; his bare feet scuff at a spot he seems to find fascinating all of a sudden.

"Well, that's... My mom called me Garfield, man. So..."

He lets the sentence hang, but they all know what he's saying. Starfire is more than just a mother hen sometimes. And at the same time, Damian sees the battlefield from another angle. L- Garfield is letting them see another part of him. Deeper.

_"Dami," Jon whispers in his ear._

_For the first time, months ago, when the name made Damian freeze with the weight of its consequence, though Jon seemed so blissfully unaware._

_"You know I can't allow anyone to call me that." Damian said, almost like a warning. Jon breezed right past it._

_"So what, are you gonna have to kill me?" Damian studied him carefully, and was pleased to see him squirm a little. You'd think he was the one with the x-ray eyes. Dami. This was meant to be important. Grayson's right to the name had been born from the camaraderie of the battlefield. It was meant to be hard-won, in Damian's head. But did it have to be? Couldn't it just be easy?_

_"Depends on how I'm feeling," he finally relented._

_"So...?" Jon looked like he was tiptoeing on thin ice. Damian smirked and went back to his book._

Starfire's smile has a parental gleam.

"Thank you, Garfield." she looks around the circle, like a therapist leading a group for troubled teens, "I feel the same way, all of you -"

"I swear, if you say something fluffy and sweet about the team being your new family, I'll kill myself and then you." Raven snaps, unexpectedly viciously, "I cannot deal with any more sentimental mush right now, it's giving me a migraine."

"Well, I'm pretty sure the punch is poison if you want to make it slow and painful." Gar jokes. Raven glares him into silence, and the joke falls flat. _I did not give you permission to speak,worm_ the glare says. Damian admits he's impressed. She really is a force to be reckoned with when riled, and that look in her eyes - betrayal, or contempt. Either means bad news for Beast Boy.

West coughs.

"So, Raven. What's your gift? You gonna let everyone call you Rae?" His smile dies on the point of another glare.

"If you want something personal," she says sweetly, "I could show you where I grew up. People there used to go to Hell for vacations."

West seems to shrink in his skin.

"Hey, man, whatever's good for you."

Raven sighs and reaches into the empty air to her left; her hand disappears into a pool of darkness. When she withdraws, there are four small white oblongs in her palm.

"Here." She tosses one to each Titan. "One benefit of being an empath is you're a pretty good judge of music taste." She frowns at West." You really need to get out of that techno faze, it almost killed me. I hope you people appreciate this, I had to descend into the cesspool of popular music for these."

Damian regards his device, held between two knuckles.

"You realize I could download all the music I want within two seconds, using the Batcomputer?" Raven's look clearly tells him she doesn't give a shit. Starfire squeals delightedly.

"Oh, Katy Perry is my very favorite, thank you Raven!"

Raven then has to fend off quite a lot of enthusiastic hugging, which gives Damian a few seconds to quickly scroll through his playlist while no-one's looking. Bach, Beethoven, all the usual… He's pulled up short by an entry he doesn't recognize. _I'll Be Good_ , by James Young. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he hits play. Exactly thirty-two seconds pass before he has the sense to hit pause and shove the wretched thing in his pocket. His eyes fly back to Raven; she's reading her book with studied boredom. His mind races. What does she know? What assumptions is she making? is this a threat to his authority, or -

Garfield swears.

" _Fox on the Run, Eye of the Tiger, Cage the Elephant_ \- that's animal cruelty - and _The Funky Gibbon?_ Really, Rae?

"You forgot _Crazy Frog_ ," she says blithely.

"I kind of hate you right now."

Raven ignores him (wow, does Damian wish he had that superpower), and West provides a distraction in the form of his gift; a season pass ticket to local theme park that it takes ten minutes of begging to stop Damian burning on the spot.

Still, maybe this wasn't awful. At least they hadn't forced him to eat any cake. It was just another morale-building exercise. He remembered something Grayson told him, from leading his Titans.

_It's always better to know your team as people than as heroes. That's when you see them at their weakest, and their best._

The again, (Raven's gift weighs heavy in his pocket), Damian isn't ready for them to know him as a person 

Saving West's gift from a fiery demise seems to signal the end of the party; West is chased off by Starfire, who's insisting he listen to Katy Perry's latest album. Damian doubts he'll escape. Super speed only gets you so far. Damian melts into shadows and waits for Raven to be alone. He needs to know what she means by her song choice: If she's implying he's emotionally vulnerable... But Garfield still clings on, like a dog with a bone. He gestures to his music player.

"Did I do something wrong, ‘cause this seems a little ..."

"Deserved?"

"Look, if this is about letting the others in on the name thing -"

"Why would it be about that?" Raven says quickly, and Damian rolls his eyes. If people could see how cliché romance is sometimes... It's a good thing Damian is abstaining from that mess. (Jon would say it didn't matter if it was cliché, as long as their happy. Go away Jon, why are you here? I'm trying to focus.)

Garfield hangs at the doorway, chewing on his cheek. He still can't see Damian.

"Are you .. jealous?"

Raven doesn't look up from her book. Logan blinks like she's smacked him between the eyes. Eureka, Damian thinks sarcastically.

"OK, well, then I'm sorry. I didn't know, you know that's kind of a weird thing to be territorial about, and I'm part animal, so ..." Raven doesn't look up. "You can call me other stuff if you want." he tries tentatively. Her eyes snap back up, and Damian thinks of two lions crouched in Savannah brush, ready to pounce, sizing each other up.

"How about 'idiot'?" she suggests, but it's softer than usual. Stone hard, instead of steel. Garfield heaves a sigh of relief, and tries (unsuccessfully) to hide the flash of disappointment in his eyes.

"Wouldn't be the first time." he grins and turns to go.

"Gar?"

He turns.

"There's a second playlist on yours." Raven says quietly, "Take a look."

He gets the thing out and scrolls through a few songs. His tail goes rigid.

"This is all my Mom's music."

He looks back up, and the wild animal is back, raw, desperate. Raven slides a bookmark into place and closes her book.

"I know. Empath, remember? I can see the inside of your head, but I'm objective. I can see what you need, even if you can't." She's making sure her voice is calm, but Damian can read the tension in her curled toes and stiff joints. He's never read that in her before.

Garfield stares dumbly down at her gift.

"Um, OK." He says hoarsely, and coughs. "Thanks... and stuff."

He glances up again, and this time it's almost scared. New fear, a kind Damian's never seen on him before. Raven manages a smile.

"You're welcome. And stuff."

Garfield nods mutely like they're signing a secret treaty, and totters into the corridor and off to his room. He looks punch drunk. Damian watches him go, still invisible.

Raven turns and pins him to the wall with her eyes. He winces. Stupid, she was born in the dark, you imbecile ...

They regard each other coolly. Damian thinks of the little plastic stick in his pocket. Raven has looked in his head, and put what she saw to music. That's dangerous, in the wrong hands. He's carrying a stick of dynamite.

She could be trying to hurt him.

And yet ...

A few lines of _Firework_ drift in from the galley. It's an on-the-fly Tamarinian translation, but the tune is still recognizable and Starfire is a surprisingly good singer. The singing is occasionally broken by Wally's pleas for mercy.

Damian gives Raven a nod, and they sign their own secret treaty. She doesn't smile, but the ghost of it is there in her eyes, as she walks out to her room.

Damian is alone. He could be training.

He pulls out some headphones, settles back on the couch, and hits the play button.

The music makes him think of Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you need to listen to I'll be Good by James Young, it defines Damian's vulnerable side. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to tell me what you thought!

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU to everyone who read this and the last fic, the response was amazing. I tried to make this one a bit more 'shippy' than the last, did it come out OK?  
> As always, comments are the greatest thing invented by man,so please feel free to leave one!


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